


Sacrilege

by under_my_blue_umbrella



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fête des Mousquetaires Challenge, Passion, Religion, Romance, annamis, bit of angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_my_blue_umbrella/pseuds/under_my_blue_umbrella
Summary: Aramis is a man of faith. But God isn't the only one he worships.My entry for the August 2020 challenge "falling stars" for the "Fête des Mousquetaires" forum.
Relationships: Ana de Austria | Anne d'Autriche/Aramis | René d'Herblay
Comments: 28
Kudos: 37





	Sacrilege

**Author's Note:**

> Holy moly! I toned this one down from its original draft in order to be eligible for the "Fête des Mousquetaires" which only allows a Teen rating, but I'm still not sure if it's too much for that (my country works with different ratings which I'm more familiar with). If I'm crossing a line here and this one needs a higher rating, please let me know!

Aramis is a man of faith. His soul reaches out to heaven while his body drops to its knees to worship God whenever he’s in a chapel or a church - and sometimes the cold, hard ground of a battlefield and the crucifix around his neck have to be good enough. She’s seen him pray, those obsidian eyes closed, calloused hands folded and words of devotion silently flowing from his lips. In spite of what he must have seen, must have _done_ , he will always believe in God’s guidance and, even the sinner that he is, that _they_ are, he will never turn his back on faith. 

Aramis worships God. 

But when they meet, at night, in their secret place outside the palace, unseen and undetected, he worships _her_.

Her body, under his sure hands, is a shrine that he touches with reverence. Where Louis fumbles and tugs and chafes, Aramis _ignites_.

Anne hadn’t known love could be like this. So tender and passionate and glorious and… _oh!_... so divine. That her body could feel this way: not a vessel or a means to an end, not a breeding ground, but her delight the sole center of a man’s attention. With Louis, she’s the potential mother of an heir. With Aramis, she’s a woman.

He’s at _her_ service when he traces the lines of her body with his lips and with his fingertips, leaving a hymnal trail of gooseflesh behind. His kisses are like prayers: hopeful and tentative to begin with, they rise to a crescendo of touch and feel and _consume_. The tickle of his beard, the bite of his teeth, the warmth of his breath on her skin - it all swells to a choir of pleasure inside her, and Aramis listens to it, smiling. 

__

When he goes down on his knees, dark head bowing in supplication, she grabs his hair to keep her legs from giving out, and he lets her. When he stands above her, tall and protective and clad in leather, weapons clinking about his belt, her breath hitches in her throat, and she cannot wait to unbuckle all those clasps and undo those buttons, to unwind that sash from his waist and peel off that shirt and strip him to his bare bones. Aramis lets her do it, only helping when time presses or when it’s been too long and patience is a word from a foreign language. 

__

He lets her have control - knowing there’s so little of that in her life - and caresses her with that glittering gaze of his, flashes of light in deep water. Piece by piece, she unveils him. Sturdy leather and cool metal fall away. Coarse linen slides off Aramis’ skin, its softness always coming as a bit of a shock underneath all that armour. 

__

She knows him by now. Knows the firm planes of his chest and stomach and the scars scattered across his body, the oldest ones white medals of honor, the newest still marking his bravery in red. She knows his scent, that heady fusion of sweat and gunpowder and wood and soap. She knows his voice, a cheerful song among his comrades, dropping an octave when he’s with her, a dark, sweet canticle in her ear.

__

In Aramis’ eyes, she is a blessing. She’s temptation, and no God could be so cruel and expect him to resist. Whatever sin they are committing he believes will be forgiven. The child, _Aramis’ son_ , is proof to him: a gift from God. 

__

And as much as Anne wants to believe him, as much as she does when she’s in his embrace, strong and safe and tender with awe - she knows she isn’t his blessing. She’s his curse. One day, when all is discovered, she will be his damnation. She should stay away from him, but she can’t. She should send him away, but they both know she won’t. He should leave, but he never will.

__

They are falling stars, lighting up the sky for the time God grants them until the Devil catches their fall.

__

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently boarded the Annamis train, and the view from the window seats is beautiful.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For Love and Duty: A Soldier's Affirmation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253048) by [aramisinaskirt (SilverMillennium_QueenNeptune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMillennium_QueenNeptune/pseuds/aramisinaskirt)




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